Shadowed
by Breezeh
Summary: We were shadowed by our past...it haunted us. We found we could not escape it...no matter how hard we tried. And it would shape our future in ways unimaginable. ABANDONED.
1. Prologue

Title: Shadowed

**Title: **Shadowed

**Summary: **'We were shadowed by the past…it haunted us. And then we found we could not escape it…no matter how hard we tried.'

**Rating: **T

**Genre: **Tragedy/Angst

_**Disclaimer:**_ Reading below and witnessing first hand my incompetent writing skills is enough, I should think, for one to come to the conclusion that I am NOT Erin Hunter.

Ahem, Plot Bunnies are stupid. This idea was one I used for a CaC a long time ago, but, surprise, surprise, it was never made into a story. So I decided to make this a story on its own. Actually, I came up with this sucky summary last night and as their tale took shape in my head I knew I HAD to write it. I really wasn't planning on starting another story so soon…but the plot was just so awesome (if you pardon my bragging) that I had to do it now. Yes, this story will -feature- somewhat of a forbidden love, but it will not be the main purpose/plot. Keep this in mind: its genres will give away most of the story. It is not romance for a reason.

This story will also switch POV frequently. I will put a dash when a new POV is starting and when it ends. To start you off, the first POV is Kiera's.

Anyway, on with the prologue.

_**Shadowed…**_

_The bare branches of the thin, leafless trees cast a shadow over the bright, milky orb. Their skeletal arms stretched towards the black sky above, quivering ever so slightly in the gentle breeze that ruffled my fur as I pelted through the undergrowth. _

_But those things did not matter. Pausing only for a split second to scent the air, I then turned and began to sprint through the bushes in a different direction, following the scent that hung in the air ahead, always too far from my grasp._

_Thorns tore at my tortoiseshell pelt and I gasped as I heard my skin tear with an awful ripping sound. Blood splattered onto the ground beside me, and the salty scent reached my glands, suffocating me as I searched for the scent I was following. _

_-_

_I paid no attention to the dark clouds gathering overhead, obscuring the moon's bright orb. My paws carried me swiftly through the forest, tearing through bushes and stomping through bracken as I followed the scent. After barreling through a bramble bush, I paused, scenting the air once again for any traces of the smell. My green eyes widened. _

_I smelled blood. _

_-_

_The roar of thunder overhead could not make me stop. The aching in my paws could not make me stop. The stinging pain in my shoulder as blood dribbled down, leaving a trail behind me could not make me stop. I could hear a violent thrashing in the bramble bush ahead. I could hear heavy paws hitting the ground. I could hear his snarl of rage as he heard me approaching. Pain that shot through me from my paw told me that I had torn a claw. But I could not stop now. _

_I was so close. Revenge was at hand. _

_-_

_I was close. I could hear his pawsteps ahead. I was unaware of anything else. Even in the bare darkness, I could sense that he was near. _

_My desire for revenge propelled me towards the sound of pawsteps hitting the ground like heavy drops of rain. I sprinted, feeling the ground curve beneath my paws. I was faster now, racing down the hill as the scent became even stronger. _

_My body ached as I reached the end of the hill, but I could not stop. This was what I had been waiting for. I was so close. I could taste the blood on my tongue already. _

_-_

_Finally. The tom's mottled form is in sight. With a yowl of fury, I lunge for him, sinking my claws and teeth into his fur. Beneath me, he crumbles, spitting with rage and defiance. His claws meet mine, but I am stronger. I shove him down. With a crack and a snarl of pain, I know that I have broken his forepaw. Pleasure wells up within me. It feels so good. His suffering feels so good. _

_Lightning streaks the black sky followed by another roar of thunder. As I lay on top of him, rain begins to pour down. _

_-_

_Yes…I hear no more pawsteps. He has stopped. I narrow my green eyes and burst through the bushes, my paws skidding on the sand as I slide to a halt in the clearing. Lightning flashes across the sky. Thunder roars. Rain begins to pour. I do not care. The scent is so strong, mingled with the smell of blood. I stare wildly around the clearing, my eyes still adjusting to the darkness. Two forms lay a few fox-lengths away, entangled with one another and struggling for dominance. I race over to them, quickly assessing the situation. Rage consumes me. I easily distinguish one form from the other, and with a deft motion, I shove the she-cat off of the tom's broken body. _

_The she-cat snarls with rage. As the rain beat down around us, soaking my pelt, I turned to her. "No, Kiera," I snarl. "This revenge is mine." _

_Her amber eyes gleam with pure fury. "No!" she screeches, her yowl reaching above the sound of the thunder and the rain. "It was never yours! It was always mine!" _

_I can feel my paws sinking into the mud that the sand has quickly transformed into. I struggle for a grip, sinking my paws into a path of grass and firm dirt. I can hear the racking sobs of Slashclaw's twisted form. But all compassion has left me. All I feel now is desire. Desire for revenge. _

_-_

_I shake my head to free it of the rainwater clinging to it. Rage courses through me. "No, Blizzardfur!" I snarl. "I am not bound by laws of compassion, now let me do my job!" I lunge towards Slashclaw. His form is huddled in a ball of wet fur and broken bones. His mottled pelt is streaked with a mixture of mud and blood. I feel no compassion for this miserable creature, even hearing his desperate pleas. I unsheathe my claws, prepared to deal the killing stroke. _

_But he stops me. His huge, muscular form barrels into me, shoving me aside. With a screech of rage, I lunge towards him, ripping at his fur with my unsheathed claws. But he is stronger. He flips me from his back and holds me against the muddy ground, my soft underbelly freely exposed. I try to fight back, but I know I am helpless. _

"_Let me go," I hiss. "This is my job." _

_He is panting from effort now, his green eyes gleaming. "No, Kiera," he repeats. "It is mine." He slowly releases me, careful that I do not get up. He pads over towards Slashclaw, unsheathes his claws, gleaming white in the darkness. The rain is heavier than ever before. I am cold and wet, but my spirit has not broken. He lowers his claws towards Slashclaw's trembling throat, but I am faster. In one swift, fluid motion, I jump to my feet and propel myself towards him. I unsheathe my claws, and a split second before Blizzardfur is successful, I sink my claw into his throat, and it is all over. _

_-_

_I watch in horror as blood wells up from the wound in Slashclaw's throat, staining Kiera's white claws and dribbling onto the mud. She has done it. It is over. She has won. _

_Her eyes glitter with an unreadable emotion as she watches the lifeblood slowly drain from Slashclaw's broken body. I am speechless. She has taken my revenge from me. All the purpose of my life is slowly fading. If revenge has already been extracted, what is the point of living anymore? As his blood mixes with the pure rain, its substance becomes paler and more watery. I stare down at his lifeless form and the blood mixture forming a puddle beside him. _

_Emotions course through me, although none identifiable. I stare at Kiera for a long time – her dark tortoiseshell pelt, dripping with blood and rainwater, forming the same mixture as the puddle on the ground, her amber eyes gleaming brightly in the darkness. Between the fresh, pure scent of rain and the foul smell of blood, I am in a daze. _

_But there is nothing left for me to do. My gaze lingers on the rogue once more, before shifting to the body of Slashclaw. In death he is small, not the large, dark warrior that he once was. He is small, pathetic, broken. _

_I have the story of his death planned out in my head. I pick up his bloody body by the scruff and drag him out of the clearing, leaving the scent of blood, and Kiera, behind. _

_**End Prologue**_

I am sorry for the crappiness of the Prologue, I really am. After rereading it, I realize how confusing it must have been. If you figured it out, great for you. If you didn't…you can PM me and I'll give you the gist (sp?) of it. Even though it was crappy, I hope you'll keep reading, because I promise that the next chapter will be less crappy and less confusing.

Constructive criticism is appreciated, for those who understood it. And even if you didn't, you can comment on the sucky writing, anyway.

xx-The Breeze-xx


	2. Buried

Disclaimer: Yeah, you all know I'm not Erin Hunter, mmkay

**Disclaimer: **Yeah, you all know I'm not Erin Hunter, mmkay?

**Well, since my prologue disaster, I've decided not to switch POV as often, maybe once or twice each chapter. I think it'll be easier to understand this way. Thank you for all of the concrit, and I most things will be explained in this chapter. **

**I've also decided that this story is going to be short—probably no more than fifteen or twenty chapters, so I can work on the plethora of other ideas that I have. **

**I'm not going to put up the allegiances as a separate chapter, because that's just pointless. You can find them on my profile if you think it's absolutely necessary to see them. Oh, and the male protagonist's name is Blizzard**_**fur **_**not Blizzardclaw. I'm sorry about that mistake, and I think I fixed it when Mem (Silent Memento) pointed it out. **

**This chapter would have been up sooner, but after typing about 2,000 words, my computer completely shut down and the file was lost, so I had to start all over. Ugh. This chapter isn't as good as the first one, but oh well. **

**Nothing much to say in terms of this chapter. It's kind of boring, but you'll get all of the information you need. **

_Shadowed_

**-chapter one- **

_Buried…_

A fiery wall of golden light is building behind the mound of dirt before me. Its faint bluish purple hues blend into milky splotches dappling the otherwise orange sky as the sun sets.

My paws were weary and caked with dirt. My fur was matted into muddy clumps and smeared with small streaks of drying blood. But not my own blood. I glance at the broken body beside me, torn mottled fur and eyes glazed over in a permanently horrified expression. His mouth is open in what looks like the beginning of a cry, cut short. I shake my head, filled with grief.

But not for him. Not for Slashclaw. Even in death, as pathetic and broken as he is, I cannot bring myself to feel any sympathy for him.

With stubborn resolve, I sink my claws once more into the brittle earth and dig down, scraping away another layer of dirt. The hole is deep, I admit. But not deep enough. The enormous pile of dirt casts a shadow over me, chilling me to the bone. But I do not stop. Bitter and persistently determined, I continue to dig, my paws aching still and my claws growing weak as the white bone is slowly worn away by the friction of my ferocious digging.

I glance up for a moment, looking the pile once again. It has grown almost unknowingly, without my consent or noticing, and it towers above me. It is almost majestic, but the reason behind this pile keeps me from regarding its majesty.

I scramble out of the hole, trying to look at it objectively from above. It is deep. It is the deepest hole I have ever seen, and easily the most solemn, silent grave.

I cast my gaze around. Piles of dirt similar, although not as large as my own, are scattered around nearby. Some are flattened and smooth, with small tufts of grass protruding from their brown depths, while others are crumbling and bumpy, with rough, uneven surfaces.

But there is one that catches my eye. It is a few fox-lengths away, beneath a small elm sapling. The pile is sleek, flattened against the earth, and sweeping, lush green grass covers it almost entirely. It looks peaceful, serene. But that is not the reason why it catches my eye.

It is the memories attached to it, and the fact that I know, beneath the surface, a delicate calico she-cat lies, her icy blue eyes closed in eternal sleep. The calico fur that once brushed affectionately against mine. The blue eyes that once gazed at me with kindness and adoration.

Because of him, I will never feel her soft, tender touch again. Because of him, she is gone.

My vision is blurred suddenly, and I can taste the salty tang of tears on my tongue. My grief is for her, only her. My grief is only for Dewpetal.

But it is no time to grieve. Shifting my weight to my hindpaws, I try to brace myself for more furious digging. I drag my sore limbs back to the hole and all but tumble back down, where I commence duty once more.

I have barely started when I hear a soft mew above, and I turn around wearily. Featherstar is perched on a smaller mound of dirt, staring down at me with icy blue pools of sympathy.

"The hole is deep enough now, Blizzardfur," she mewed, barely more than a whisper. "You can stop."

I shake my head, and I can see that her blue gaze is puzzled. She does not understand my fascination with this grave in particular—she knows that I had never been close to Slashclaw, although I had brought news of his death.

"_He was hit by a Twoleg monster." _

My first lie to Featherstar; my first lie as her noble deputy. Although my lie did not explain the small, neat incision in his throat or his overall lack of broken limbs, I was not questioned, to my glorious relief. My leader shook her head, and a small sigh escaped her lips as she turned her back to me and began to pad away.

I was alone again; alone with my thoughts. And, of course, my thoughts wandered to last night. I shook my head, trying to recreate the scene.

Of course: the pounding rain, the overpowering scent of blood, and Kiera, the rogue cat. I had seen her once before, stalking among the reeds on the RiverClan border. She had taken prey from them. My patrol and I chased her off.

She had had hate in her eyes then, but not as powerful as the hate she had for Slashclaw last night.

She had stared at me with rage and defiance, but these emotions were meaningless compared to the sheer fury and obstinate hatred I had seen grace her features last night. And it was not only hatred. It was desire—she had wanted revenge, but what for?

That question I could not answer, so I put it out of my mind. But as soon as the thought was whisked away, I was bombarded by another question.

_Who is to blame? _

My first instinct was to blame it all on Kiera. She had killed him, after all. But then, with a second intuition… I wasn't so sure. I had been fully prepared to deal Slashclaw the killing stroke. Although I could not recreate the fierce desire for revenge, I remembered the powerful emotion vividly.

The rage had overtaken me, and I had tried to murder him. I had tried to murder him in cold blood when I could have easily shown mercy. I had not done the deed, but I was as much to blame as Kiera.

I rid myself quickly of these thoughts and survey the hole I have dug. It is enormous now, and I am through. I am weary to the bone, and my eyelids droop over my green eyes with sheer exhaustion. I scrambled out of the hole, my muscles nearly cracking under the strain. The effort is exhausting, and I flop over on my side, breathing heavily.

I stay that way for a moment, my back to the cold earth, staring at the sky. It is dark now; completely dark. Not a single star shines in the sky. When I recover from my fatigue, I get unsteadily to my paws and begin to trek back to camp. As I pass beneath the trees, I am swathed once more in darkness. I draw in a breath, trying to smell my way back to camp. But it was no use. My glands were suffocated by the woody smell of dirt.

In a moment, my salvation comes. A dappled stream of light breaks through the scraggly tree branches above and shines down on me, lighting my path. I sigh with relief and begin to follow the path down the steep, winding trail of the ravine.

But then, all of a sudden, the light disappears. I glance upward and see that the sky is swathed in dark, stormy clouds, obscuring the guiding light of the star. I shiver, and realize that it is an omen.

Leaving my fate, and the memories of last night buried behind me beside the body of Slashclaw, I make my way down the ravine and back towards camp.

_Kiera: _

Almost unaware of the increasing darkness, I pad through the muddled undergrowth of bracken and gorse. My paws are stinging, and the bracken's sharp thorns aren't helping, I think to myself with a small flicker of amusement, the only emotion I can muster.

I trudge up the steep, cliffy hill, tearing my claw and nearly falling. My body feels weary and disoriented, and if I were to meet an enemy, I fear I would perish for not being able to defeat them. Impeded by the sharp stones and thorny gorse, I claw my way stubbornly to the top of the hill where I survey the landscape below.

The river is flowing to the left, its rushing blue waters dappled by the last rays of the sunset. The gorge nearby churns viciously, its waters stormy and thrashing, lapping the bank ferociously with huge, white paws. To the east, red roofs dapple the lush green grass and loud shouts from the humans can be heard if I strain my tired ears.

But none of these beautiful, serene places are my destination. With a sigh, I let my amber gaze travel past the river and the lush grass towards the expanse of gray to the far east. Smoke and smog rise into the air in angry black clouds, and the loud, unpleasant churning noises of monsters and other human inventions clog my senses. But that is my home, and it is the only home I have ever known. The home in which the scent of Rigel still lingers.

I start down the hill, stumbling and barely keeping balance on my tired paws. My pads are tough, taut from the stinging black pavement that I am accustomed to walking across, but still, they scrape against the sharp stones and bleed profusely onto the rough bracken.

I approach the first human path, winding and black, and reeking of their stale scent. I wrinkle my nose and put one sore paw experimentally on the pavement. Sensing no danger I hurry across and continue on after without hesitation. I am used to these paths, and I no longer fear them or their monsters.

No more stones or bracken impede my steps, and for that I am glad. But I have forsaken this for a smoky steam clouding my vision and burning black road to walk on. I continue, weary but determined, through the smog, anticipating with dread every painful step.

Finally my home is in sight. I stop for a moment, trying to scent out any danger. I sense none. I pad towards my home, hidden behind some sort of human waste bin and between a scraggly bush. I am comforted by its familiarity, and I slip behind the bush and into the small cove beneath it.

I am shocked by what lies in the soft dirt. Two small bodies, one black and the other dark ginger, stained with crimson blood. I sniff them tenderly, drawing in their stale scent. But beneath the overpowering smell of blood and death, I can taste my own scent on the kits that I gave birth to moons ago.

Suddenly the memories flood back to me. Rigel's black coat gleaming darkly in the night as he slithered to the ground, blood pouring from the gash in his throat. And beside him, the two kits, mewling pitifully before their breathing ceased and they lay on the ground, cold and still. And the eyes. The eyes filled with menace and satisfaction as my mate and my kits lay dead upon the ground.

Tears sting my eyes and threaten to pour down, but I do not let them. These memories have reminded me of something more significant—last night. I close my eyes briefly, recreating the scene in my mind. The pounding rain and the scent of blood flash through my brain, and they seem so real.

But I cannot recreate the emotions. Their stream was not a pattern or a rhythm, but a spastic bouncing from one feeling to another. But the one, underlying emotion I can recall is the very fiercest: desire. Desire for revenge.

And I watched myself from outside of my own body as the scene played before my eyes a second time. Blizzardfur, the Clan cat, whom I had only seen once before. He had defeated me on his territory and I had left. Why did he want revenge on the same cat; a cat who was obviously part of his own clan?

I put these thoughts out of my mind, but the thoughts of the rest of the night cannot be put away so easily. Guilt and fear gnaw at me. I had killed him in cold blood, not in an honorable battle. But I had killed when I could have easily shown mercy. A shiver passes down my spine as I remember the fierce desire for revenge, and the bloody path I had taken. I frighten myself.

I stare once more at the tiny bodies, and instinctively curl my tail around them, an act of motherly protection that I cannot help. Their coldness chills my fur, and I wonder for a moment where I could bury them. I had buried Rigel in a small patch of land not far from my home, but the place had been demolished a few days ago. I curl my lip in disgust, but then remember how little concern the greedy humans have for cats.

The only dirt soft enough for me to dig would be the forest. This thought crosses my mind and I groan. Walking back to the forest carrying these two tiny bodies would be difficult, dangerous, and exhausting. But I have no choice. With these kits, I would bury the memories of both them and Rigel, and I knew that the longer I waited to do so, the harder it would be.

I gather the kits to my mouth, securing them tightly beneath my jaw. I cannot bring myself to be rough, and even though the kits are dead, I am gentle with their delicate bodies. I gett wearily to my feet and begin the trek to the forest once more.

It was not nearly as difficult as last times, this being the fifth time I have attempted this same path. But I am even more tired, and the journey is going to take almost twice as long, not to mention I am weighed down by the burden of gently carrying my two kits.

As I approach the first road, I pause, pondering how I am going to do this. I wait for a moment, placing a paw on the black surface before a rustling noise from nearby makes me snatch it off again.

"Who's there?" I hiss through a mouthful of fur. "Show yourself!"

There is a muffled mewing sound from the bushes behind me, and I assume a defensive position, trying to look as intimidating as I can despite the dead kittens in my mouth. After a moment, a bundle of fur bursts from the bushes and tumbles to a halt at my paws. I stare at it threateningly for a moment before recognizing it and rolling my eyes incredulously.

"Hi, Kiera," he said, raising his head and staring at me with bright blue eyes. "Where're you going?"

"None of your business," I snap, laying the kittens on the grass beside the path. "Go away, Copper."

Copper's face falls. "I just thought you looked like you could use some help."

"I'm fine," I insist. "Now go away."

Copper's blue eyes look suddenly sympathetic. "I heard about Rigel," he meows softly, touching his nose to my ear tip. "I'm sorry."

"I don't need your sympathy," I growl. "Get lost, Copper, or I won't get there in time. I'm serious."

"Sorry, sorry," he mews quickly, his blue eyes looking somewhat frantic. "But really, Kiera, you need help. Come on, I'll help you carry them."

I unsheathe my claws, frustration overcoming me. But I manage to restrain myself, allowing my fur to lie flat on my shoulders. "Alright," I agree mutinously, "you can come, but once we get there, you turn right back around and leave."

"Sure, of course." Copper's eyes glow with satisfaction and excitement. He bounces forward and picks up the ginger kitten, before padding overenthusiastically forward, his tail raised in the air.

Groaning slightly, I gently pick up the black kitten and follow, not at all sharing in Copper's enthusiasm. My paws drag across the hard black of the Twoleg paths, and I trudge through the bracken and gorse, grumbling to myself.

When we finally arrive at the top of the hill, I place my kitten on the soft grass and snatch the ginger kit from Copper, laying her down beside her brother. "Now go," I command, bristling. "You promised to leave."

Copper's eyes are wild with fear. "But this is Clan cat territory," he mews. "It isn't safe. They'll kick you off, or worse, take you captive or kill you!"

"I've fought them before, and they're soft." I flex my claws appreciatively, showing off their long, sharp curves.

"But--"

"Go!" I snarl. "Leave me alone!"

His tail drooping, Copper trudges off. I feel a twinge of guilt, but it is quickly erased. I scan the area, pressing against the earth with my paws and measuring its softness. It is soft, but not soft enough for me to bury the kits. Sighing, I pick up both kits in my mouth and continue down the hill.

I walk through the tall, sweeping grass, and I am careful, for I smell the scent of the Clan cats. But I stay carefully hidden among the green blades, downwind from any cat. A soft, green forest looms ahead, branches swaying in the nighttime breeze.

I sniff the air, but I am still downwind and safe from detection. I pad stealthily through the ferns, searching for the perfect spot. I glance ahead to see a large clearing, with soft, sweeping brown dirt, perfect for burial. Sighing with relief, I pad towards the very center and begin digging.

With each scoop of dirt, I am intent on burying all memories—of the kits, of Rigel, and of last night—behind me. When I am done, I lay the kits in the hole gently, curling their cold bodies around one another, in serene, eternal slumber. When I am finished, I cover the bodies and smooth the dirt down over the hole. The clearing looks exactly the same as when I first came. Good. Now I will not recognize it.

I prepare to begin the journey back, but my legs are beyond exhausted and all of my limbs ache. In a small bed of ferns I lie down, curling my tail around my weary body. I fall easily into sleep, leaving all of the memories buried in the waking world.

**Done! Well, how do you like it? I spent awhile on it, and it's about 3,000 words, which is not as long as I hoped it would be. I know Kiera got a longer part than Blizzardfur, but that will all be made up in the next chapter. Constructive criticism is appreciated; it always is. Hopefully chapter two will be up much faster than this one was. **

**-Breeze **


	3. Thoughts

Disclaimer: Do you REALLY think I'm Erin Hunter

**Disclaimer: **Do you REALLY think I'm Erin Hunter? Honestly.

Chapter Two is here. This chapter is definitely more exciting than the last one, and we'll meet some new characters. New characters yay. Anyway, I totally forgot to put Copper and some other rogues in the Allegiances. Please forgive me. I just added them.

By the way, my AU, WTFF is on hiatus. I realized I couldn't handle working on two fics at once. But Shadowed is only going to be about seventeen or eighteen chapters, so I'll get to working on that right after I'm done with this.

Oh, and WAMT has turned into a single oneshot for the time being. I may continue the series, but only after Shadowed is done. I love this fic and I want to spend as much time and energy on it as possible.

_This chapter is dedicated to Silent Memento for all of his support, great concrit, praise and encouragement, and just being a good friend. _

Shadowed

-chapter one-

_Thoughts…_

_Blizzardfur: _

The camp is quiet; unnervingly quiet. It is too early for the dawn patrol to wake, so all the dens are silent. Even the birds that usually sing, perched on the low-hanging tree branches are still curled comfortably in their nests, snuggled around their tiny, smooth eggs and warming them with their sleek feathers.

The fallen leaves on the ground shuffle beneath my paws, scraping across the sandy earth as I make my way to my den. My paws are still caked with brittle dirt, and Slashclaw's blood is drying my fur into stiff spikes. I know I must look awful, but I don't care. My weary body aches for sleep. All energy has been sapped cruelly from me, and I can feel my limbs tremble as I pad slowly, tiredly towards my den.

I push through the branches that bar the way into the bush that is the warriors' den, I heave a huge sigh that takes an enormous amount of energy to perpetuate. Inside the warm den, I see furry bodies scattered around, curled around one another, enjoying their painless and undisturbed that I wish I could mimic. I know now that, even with my crippling exhaustion, I will not be able to rest so peacefully.

I drag my limbs past the sleeping bodies of my fellow warriors and make my way to the back of the den, where a clean pile of moss awaits me. A rush of gratitude towards my apprentice Icepaw fills my empty heart. I do not even have the energy to circle my nest. I simply plop down in whatever positions my legs choose to go, and try to sleep.

At first any prospect of slumber evades me. I squeeze my eyes shut, quietly infuriated by how difficult it is to slip into sleep. I shift in my nest, adjusting my position so that my dirt-encrusted tail is covering my weary limbs, and tuck my nose into my paws. I feel tight and compact, but not safe. I feel only restricted by the compressed position. I flex my stiff legs and splay out on the moss.

Finally I can feel myself drifting away into uncomfortable slumber. The scene blurs around me, and a wave of black crashes over me. Sleep claims me at last.

-

Much too early, my slumber is ended. I can feel something prodding me in the side, but I clench my eyelids tighter together, trying to cling to the last few moments of sleep. But the poking is relentless. As I open my eyes slits, I can see a blurred face above me; wide blue eyes and soft, white kit fur framing them.

"Icepaw," I mutter, my voice still slurred with sleep. I moan loudly, unable to hide my disappointment as I remember my responsibility as her mentor.

"Wake up," she meows, her voice stern yet urgent. "You said you would take me hunting at sunrise today."

"I did?" I try to play dumb, but a huge yawn that escapes my jaws interrupts my dubious words.

I can sense Icepaw's frustration and impatience as she replies, "Yes, you did."

I sigh deeply as I shake my head, trying to rid it off the thick feeling of sleep. I clamber to my paws, sinking my curved claws into the earth below to steady myself. As I glance downward, I see what a mess I am. Dirt still clings to every inch of my tabby fur, and although the bloody spikes have flattened overnight, the blood is now dry and cakes my fur, mingling with the soil. Icepaw wrinkles her nose—half from the disgusting scent and half from my bedraggled and exhausted appearance.

"You look awful," she remarks, and I manage a small particle of amusement. Icepaw has always been blunt, even towards her authority. Featherstar warned me that she would be a challenge to mentor.

"I'm okay," I assure her, shaking my fur to try and get rid of some of the dirt. But it is packed too tightly into the tabby hair on my pelt to shake free. I sigh. I will have to bathe in the river later.

Icepaw leads the way out of the den, her tail held high in a mixture of pride and excitement. Her boundless energy and enthusiasm make me cringe suddenly, and I realize that it will be a very long morning hunting with her.

The camp is now bustling with energy. A ginger warrior is standing beside the Highrock, issuing orders to two small apprentices, who stare back at him with eager, reverent eyes. The names of all my Clanmates escape me for a moment. I cast my gaze around the clearing. Two younger warriors share tongues outside of the den, a few fox-lengths away, and a queen and her kits bask in the dappled sun that penetrates the thick branches outside of the nursery.

On the opposite side of the Highrock is Featherstar, her silvery-gray fur gleaming in the sunlight. Beside her, a white warrior with gray patches nods and listens while his apprentice stares up at both of them in awe. Their names flash into my brain with a burst of intuition. _Cloudstorm, _I remember vaguely, _and his apprentice, Owlpaw. _

"There're Cloudstorm and Owlpaw," mews Icepaw, echoing my thoughts. "Let's go see if they want to come hunting with us." She begins to pad towards them.

"Let's not," I disagree, pulling her back towards me with my tail. Cloudstorm is one of the most arrogant and aggressive warriors in the Clan, and wide-eyed Owlpaw was klutzy and prone to daydreaming. _The last thing I need is to spend a morning with these two,_ I think.

Icepaw wilts. "Why not?" I remember that she and Owlpaw are good friends, and I understand her disappointment. Her bossy nature was easily remedied when she had another, younger apprentice to order around.

"Because I said so," I meow firmly, all possible logical arguments abandoning me. "Now let's go."

Icepaw sighs and continues to lead the way out of camp, her tail drooping as she pads towards the exit. I sigh with relief and follow her, ignoring the curious gazes I am receiving from my Clanmates.

"Hey! Wait a moment!" I stop dead in my tracks and groan as I realize whom the voice belongs to. I turn around slowly, cringing as I see Cloudstorm rushing towards us, and Owlpaw sprinting to keep up with him.

Icepaw bounds eagerly forward to touch noses with Owlpaw, and the two immediately engage in deep conversation. I am left to face Cloudstorm's narrowed, aggressive blue gaze.

"Yes?" I meow testily, trying my best to respond calmly and indifferently.

"Featherstar says to come hunting with you," retorts Cloudstorm, bristling under my aggravated gaze.

I try to keep my disappointment inward and remain cool and collected. "Fine," I mew, gesturing with my tail towards Icepaw and Owlpaw. "The apprentices as well?"

"Naturally." Cloudstorm's voice is cold.

"Icepaw," I meow, loud enough for me to be heard over her incessant chattering, "come on. We're going hunting."

"With Owlpaw and Cloudstorm?" she asks eagerly. I nod. "Yay!" She skips towards the exit, glancing towards Owlpaw expectantly. He scampers towards her, slipping on a fallen leaf and almost tripping. I choke back a snort.

"Where should we go?" demands Cloudstorm crisply, as we set off at a slower pace towards the ravine.

I think for a moment. "The WindClan border," I decide finally. "There should be plenty of prey there, and we don't want to risk antagonizing RiverClan by going to Sunningrocks." Satisfied by my logical response, Cloudstorm nods curtly and then turns away.

We pad through the fallen leaves on the ground, an underlying sound of crunching beneath the noise of Icepaw's chattering. The weather is pleasant enough, although an occasional, chill gust of wind sweeps through the trees and ruffles my fur, freeing it of some of the dirt. I can see Cloudstorm's nose wrinkle as the breeze blows my rank scent towards him.

"Can't you do something about that disgusting smell?" he mutters, evidently trying to make it low enough for me not to hear. He knows that I have authority over him, but I am too tired to reprimand him now. Besides, no one would blame him. I know I stink.

Finally, through the trees, I see the pale strip of moor ahead. The WindClan border lies only a few fox-lengths away. I call ahead to Icepaw and Owlpaw, and the two apprentices stop.

"We'll practice hunting here," I meow over the noise of the wind. "Owlpaw and Cloudstorm, you two walk north a little to see if any rabbits have crossed the border. Icepaw and I will try for some woodland prey in these bushes."

"Fine." Cloudstorm beckons towards Owlpaw, and he clumsily touches noses with Icepaw before hurrying after his mentor.

I glance around, and see a small mouse scuffling beneath the leaves a few mouse-lengths away. I slip down instinctively into a hunter's crouch and begin creeping towards it, flattening my belly against the ground. I try not to rustle the leaves beneath me as I slink slowly forward, but this proves more difficult than expected. I glance behind me and see Icepaw watching me with intent blue eyes, and drops to her belly to try and mimic my crouch. But as she does, leaves rustle beneath her paws, and the mouse drops its nut and flees into a knot of a nearby tree.

"I'm sorry, Blizzardfur," she apologizes, looking downcast. I pad over to her and touch my tail tip to her shoulder reassuringly.

"It's okay," I assure her. "There should be plenty of other mice around here."

As I finish speaking, the wind picks up, and blows a strong scent of rogue to my glands.

_Kiera: _

Sunlight floods the vegetation around me, dappling it with a golden glow. It warms my tortoiseshell fur as I shift in the ferny makeshift nest. The leaf litter that clings to my back is uncomfortably cold compared the sun's warm rays. I wriggle on the ground, trying to squirm free of the forest debris, strangely comfortable compared to the hard, stone ground on which I have always slept.

A sudden longing fills me. I want to stay in the forest—the beautiful, lush greenery is plentiful of prey, and there is always a comfortable shelter close by. I roll over so that my stomach is pressed to the cool, dew-moist dirt.

But I cannot stay here. I know how to stalk the woodland prey from months of practice, but still, this is not where I belong. My domain lies further away, beneath a smog-filled sky. The place; the human place that I have come to regard as home.

I sigh, breathing in the musky scent of the forest. The desperate yearning gnaws at my belly as I remember once catching a glance at one of the camps—how they cared and groomed their young, bringing prey to the elders who could not hunt for themselves, and their unwavering loyalty to one another. A sharp stab of pain shoots through me. No one will care for me when I grow old.

But I shake these thoughts from my head as a pang in my belly reminds me that I haven't eaten since yesterday morning. I get to my paws tiredly, flexing my sore limbs. I glance once more around the clearing. There is nothing unique about it—I remember taking extra care to smooth down the dirt after the burial. The burial. My stomach churns, but I push the thoughts stubbornly out of my mind.

I know that prey will not hide here, so close to where me, a cat, has slept, so I pad out of the clearing. The cool, squishy dirt is pleasant beneath my paws, in comparison to the hard stone ground that I am accustomed to. Ferns tickle my pelt, and I wriggle beneath their feather-light touch.

A sudden gust of wind makes me stop short, blowing the scent of mouse to my glands. I glance around ever so slowly, trying to make as little noise as possible as I scout out my prey. There. A few yards away, nibbling on a fallen tree nut, a small mouse huddles in the roots of an oak tree. I drop down to my stomach in a practiced hunter's crouch.

Good. I am downwind; the mouse cannot smell me as I creep forward, my belly brushing the ground. One paw step at a time I draw closer and closer. I judge my distance from it, and then leap.

The mouse does not see me until my claws are closed around its tiny body. I lower my head towards it, and, with a swift bite, it hangs limply between my paws. A wave of satisfaction washes over me as I settle down to eat it.

When I am finished, I carefully bury the remains. I know the forest cats' aversion to 'rogues,' or cats like me that wander on their own. I know that I am scorned by the Clan cats for my frequent hunting on their territory, but that knowledge gives me satisfaction that they have not yet caught me.

I lie on the sun-warmed ground for a moment, amongst the ferns and grasses. I dread the time when I must return to my disgusting home, but I know that I must soon. I cannot stay here forever. It is only a matter of time before the forest cats find me.

Regretfully I rise to my paws, shaking my fur free of the moss clinging to it. I remember the way I have come, across the moors, and I taste the air. Yes. I can smell rabbits north of here. That must be where the open plains and hills that I have crossed so many times are.

I pad north, my journey quite pleasant despite the dread of returning. The dirt and debris are soft beneath my paws, and the sun warms my fur with its golden rays. Occasionally I stop to lick the dew off of nearby leaves, the substance sweeter and more pure than any water I have ever tasted.

Every step I take, the scent of rabbits grows stronger, and finally I see the moorland ahead. Sighing, I trample through a bed of bracken towards it, unnoticing that two pairs of eyes are watching me.

Then, all of a sudden, I can feel a huge weight upon my back, pressing me to the ground below. I glance upward, and I am blinded by a flash of white and gray fur. Forest cat scent is all around me. I struggle beneath the cat's weight, but he is stronger and larger than I am. All I can do is wait, struggling futilely until his strength ebbs.

"Let go of me, you forest mongrel," I snarl, reaching up with one of my paws to swipe at his ear. He gives a hiss of pain as the two make contact. His blood trickles down the side of his face and makes a pool beside my paw.

"Shut up, foxdung," he retorts, cuffing me painfully with a heavy blow. As I shake the pain from my head, I hear him snarl, "What are you doing on our territory?"

I do not reply. Instead, with all of the strength I can muster, I flex, throwing him off of my back. He rolls around in the leaf litter for a moment while I regain my balance, before jumping to his paws and lunging at me.

I dodge, but he manages to graze my shoulder with unsheathed claws. While he spins around confusedly, I seize my chance and dart forward, knocking him off his paws. He falls onto his back, and I hold him down, one claw pressing above his throat.

But he does not give up so easily. He reaches up with one of his paws and makes a small but very painful incision in my cheek. I wince, my hold slackening, and he wriggles free from beneath me. I whirl around to face him, but instead find myself face to face with a small brown cat, no older than a kit. I easily shove him aside, although my maternal nature forbids me to harm him. I finally get a good look at my attacker.

He is quite large, with shaggy, bloodstained white fur. A few patches of darker, gray fur on his pelt. His face is broad, but not flat, and his muzzle blatantly protrudes from his wide cheeks. His blue eyes gleam angrily, and I notice a number of battle scars marring his muscular pelt. All in all, I realize with a shudder, this is not a cat one should pick I fight with.

We circle each other for a moment, both waiting for the other to make the first move. He is older than I, and thus has had more battle experience, I note. But his long fur and bulky muscles make him slow, whilst my slender build should allow me to slip easily away, out of reach from his thorn-sharp claws. I nod, narrowing my eyes at him.

He is impatient. He leaps towards me, claws unsheathed and outstretched. I know that I cannot best him in strength, but in speed I can. I slip beneath him, sliding on my back across the dew-moist, slippery grass, and drag my claws across his stomach as I glide. He gives a screech of pain as he tumbles to the ground after his impressive leap. Blood streams from the deep scratches that I have left across his belly, staining the dirt below.

"Filthy rogue!" he screeches. I hear a rustling from behind me, and, to my shock, Blizzardfur appears from the ferns to the right of me. Another, smaller cat is with him, her white kit fur puffed up and tense for a battle.

"Kiera," meows Blizzardfur, sounding as surprised as me. "What are you doing here?"

"Just passing through," I reply casually. There. That would infuriate the white warrior. I began to groom the small wound on my shoulder.

"She's been hunting on our territory," hisses the white tom. "She has the scent of ThunderClan prey all over her!"

Blizzardfur leans closer and sniffs, but the scent of our mingled blood has overpowered the prey smell. He furrows his eyebrows and shakes his head. "There's no prey scent, Cloudstorm," he meows diplomatically. "I can't prosecute her for simply passing through."

"But I smelled her," protests Cloudstorm, hatred dripping from every syllable. Blizzardfur fixes him with a stern green glare, and he falls silent, still glaring furiously at me.

For the first time, I get a good look at Blizzardfur. His fur is matted and dried with blood, but there is still a majestic look about him. His head is raised high on his powerful neck, and hard muscles are visible beneath his furrowed tabby coat. Even his green eyes gleam with a quiet sort of authority.

"I'll let you go this time, Kiera," he mews, his voice edged with warning that seems somehow slurred by weariness. "But you cannot hunt on our territory. The prey here must feed our Clan, and our Clan only."

I shrug, refusing to acknowledge my intimidation. "Fine," I agree easily, trying to sound breezy. I get to my paws and pad towards the moorland ahead.

"Where are you going, Kiera?" he calls after me.

"Home," I yell back. And then I turn my back and begin the journey home.

To my annoyance, the journey is far too quick. Although my paws drag through the tall grass, the travel is over quite briefly. As I perch on the top of the hill and look down over my home, I wince. Down the hill, a few yards from the first path, a dark ginger cat's fur gleams in the smog surrounded by other battle-scarred pelts.

_It's never going to end, is it?_ I think, as I brace myself and begin to walk down the hill.

Done! This chapter wasn't very dark, but I still had fun writing it. We got to meet new characters, Cloudstorm and Owlpaw. They'll both play pretty integral roles later in the story, as will Copper and the ginger cat near the end.

Constructive criticism appreciated. I seem to have lost all my reviewers since the first chapter. XD Oh well.

I'll try and update it this quickly next time, too. This chapter only took me two days—hopefully the rest will take me such little time, too.

-Breeze


	4. Storm

Surprisingly, this is up fairly quickly

This chapter was up faster than I anticipated. I have recently acquired a beta, although she was not around to beta this chapter. Hopefully she will beta the next chapter, though, so no more pesky little grammar mistakes and better characterization. So…here it is. Chapter three.

_This chapter is dedicated to all of my friends (particularly Jenny) for helping to get our family back on its feet. You deserve much more than a chapter dedicated to you. _

**Shadowed**

-chapter three-

Storm…

_Kiera: _

I stop, my claws digging into the ground to keep myself from skidding down the pebbly hill. I struggle for a moment to keep my body suspended diagonally on the slope, but finally manage to find balance.

I strain my eyes, glancing downward at the cluster of battle-scarred pelts; fur ripped with long pink lines stretching through it, like tiny pink snakes. The pelts and the scars are all familiar, every single one of them. I try to mentally count; try to see how many there are and how good my odds are, but my vision blurs suddenly and I lose track.

_No tears,_ I tell myself fiercely, squaring my shoulders and directing my vision back to the group. While glancing at one pelt in particular, it is most difficult to keep the salty droplets from cascading down my cheeks. Dark ginger fur streaked with dirt and mud, mussed behind the ears but otherwise smooth, with a curved scar running down the back of her neck.

Memories flood back to me, but I refuse to let them overcome me. I shake my head fiercely, trying to free the recollections from my mind completely. A sudden gust of wind picks up from the nearby moorland, sweeping around me and taunting me with icy fingers. I shiver, a tremor running through me that has nothing to do with the wind.

I turn back to the scene below. They sit there at the base of the hill, waiting, their eyes clearly illuminated in the smog. Narrowed to slits, their emotions are still clear. I cast my gaze around the semicircle that they have formed. Anger. Hatred. All of them different, with one thing in common—all of the emotions are directed at me.

It's too late to turn back and pretend that I am merely passing through. Their eyes are too intent and focused; they have already seen me, and they won't let me escape again. I was lucky last time. This time, I am sure, I will not get away unscathed.

A growl forms in my throat. My feelings are identical as I stare at them. I hate them, too. But this time the difference is that their hatred is more powerful, magnified by their greater number. They _all _feel the powerful, burning detestation, whereas I am the only one.

And I am alone. There is nothing I can do now but continue down the hill. Perhaps I could pretend to be weak and sorry. I growl at the very thought; I am too proud to do such a thing, I think foolishly. The only thing to do is to meet my fate arrogantly as usual.

I continue down the hill, my steps deliberate and very sluggish. My contempt grows as I focus on each face at a time. Names come to mind now; I can remember them. A huge white tom with dark blue eyes; Titan. A skinny silver she-cat with a heavily scarred body; Iris. A muscular tabby tom with deep scars weaving through the features on his angry face; Thorn. A sleek black tom with burning amber eyes; Dusk. A pang shoots through me as I remember his uncanny similarity to Rigel; to his brother.

And finally, the last face, the one with the most powerful glare of pure loathing. A thin, dark ginger she-cat with many scars, though none of them detract from her exquisite beauty. Vixen. She sits beside Dusk, their shoulders touching in a friendly but non-platonic way. Her tail is wrapped neatly around her mud-stained paws. She watches my steps carefully, aware of every move that I make and looking tense; quick to jump and pin me down should I try and run away.

This hatred sends a powerful spasm of pain through me, rocking my body. Even though it was so long ago, the detestation that I see in her eyes is still agonizing. I try to seal my heart away; try not to feel any emotions. Try to be my regular, arrogant self.

I reach the bottom of the hill much too quickly. My paws tremble, and soon the uncontrollable shaking has spread throughout my entire body. I cannot stop the fear from spreading, but I clench my jaw and try my hardest to keep it from overcoming me.

As soon as my hind leg is on flat ground once more, the circle tightens around me, closing me in. The hatred shoots from their furious gazes and burns my pelt. My face is only an inch from Vixen's now. I narrow my eyes and try to meet her glare evenly, but the loathing in her eyes is too powerful to match.

"Kiera." A hiss escapes her, and I can hear the hatred leaking through every syllable. My name sounds like a curse on her tongue.

I do not speak. A thousand things to say come to mind, but none of them will help me now. My jaw is still clenched; I fear that I will break down sobbing if I try to open it.

"Why do you return?" she demands, drawing back her lips in a snarl. "Why do you return after everything you've done to us?"

Still, I can't force my jaw open. I stay silent and focus on trying to get my body to stop trembling.

"You're a monster," another voice speaks up, furious but not as painfully loathing as Vixen's. I cast my gaze around, but I cannot identify the speaker.

"You have no right to return," hisses Titan from Vixen's left. "Not after everything you've done."

"You should be killed." Dusk meets my gaze with a loathing one of his own. My carefully sealed heart breaks free of its binding and I feel unbearable agony shoot through me as my former friends stare at me with burning hatred in their eyes. The friends who used to hunt with me, scavenge for food among the rubble, groom each other's fur, scare the local house cats, and much more.

"I didn't do it," I manage to reply. "I didn't kill him."

"Why is he dead, then?" Vixen snarls, shoving her face into mine so that our noses touch. But the gesture is nowhere near friendly. I stumble back to the center of the circle, stunned from the impact. "Monster. We should kill you now."

"I didn't do it," I repeat, this time more firmly. "I didn't kill him."

Vixen lunges forward, biting down on my shoulder. Her sharp teeth sink into my flesh, and I shudder, twisting beneath her bite and shaking her free. Now I am furious—how dare they blame me? It wasn't my fault.

"I loved him!" I shout, launching myself towards her. She is unprepared for the attack, so I manage to land squarely on her shoulders and shove her down into the pavement. She struggles beneath my weight. Her snarls are muffled by the stone.

"Get off of her!" screeches Dusk, ripping me from Vixen's back. His sharp claws tear at my skin with an awful ripping sound. I gasp as blood forms in the wounds and trickles down my back. I whirl around. Adrenaline rushes through me, charging me with energy. I forget that they are my friends, my family, almost. I only care about defending myself and my honor.

I whirl around, seizing the moment when Vixen is recovering, and lunge for Dusk. We grapple for a moment, neither of us able to deal the other a blow. But he is bigger than me, and stronger. Finally, Dusk rolls over and pins me to the ground, his teeth at my throat. I struggle, kicking my legs and flailing my paws. Iris slinks forward and holds my right foreleg to the ground, while Thorn takes the other. I cannot move. Their weight is too much. I stop protesting as I stare into Rigel's brother's face.

"I didn't kill him," I meow between pants. "I didn't."

"Liar." He makes a small incision in my throat, not enough to kill me but enough to make me bleed. I wince at the tangy scent as the crimson substance dribbles down my neck. He raises his head and calls to his mate, "Vixen! What should we do with her?"

I crane my neck to try and see her. She is padding forward, her beautiful face tightened with rage and her perfectly shaped body tense. "Don't kill her," she snarls. "She doesn't deserve death. Let her wander the earth alone. We will not become murderers for this piece of filth."

I am relieved, yet at the same time, stung. My heart aches for them to understand, to believe. I am unbelievably hurt—how could they believe that I killed Rigel? He was my mate; I loved him. Slowly, Dusk releases me, climbing off me. Warily, Thorn and Iris do the same. I feel another pang as I watch them all stand together—I was once a part of this coven. The coven that now believes I am a murderer.

But I am. The night with Slashclaw flashes back to me with painfully vivid memories. Perhaps they are right; perhaps I do deserve to wander the earth alone. I shake those thoughts from my head. I am in too much pain already.

"Get up," hisses Vixen. Obediently I get to my paws, my entire body aching from the injuries. A small pool of blood has formed where my body used to be. The circle steps back, forming a small opening in front of me. "Now go. And don't you ever show your face here again, filthy murderer."

I resist crying; I resist doing anything except for dipping my head in assent and padding out of the circle. I glance up to meet the eyes of each of my former friends one more time, but all of their gazes say the same thing: _Get out of here. We don't want you. _

With a heavy heart, I pad out of the circle. It closes behind me. I stare up at the hill once again, trying to think. I glance behind me, but my friends' backs are turned. I guess there's nowhere else for me to go. I step onto the hill and start climbing.

_Blizzardfur: _

I glance anxiously at the sky. It is a pale, stormy sort of gray broken up by streaks of darker, grayish blue where the storm clouds gather. The tiny fragments of golden light that remain from the sunset are confined to a small corner of the tempestuous sky.

I try to glimpse the moon behind the dark clouds that are quickly gathering overhead, but I can't. Only a small sliver of silver light beams down, penetrating the thick, gray haze and dappling my fur an icy gray.

The camp is quiet and calm now; the excitement from the day wearing off. Most ThunderClanners are sitting outside their dens, enjoying the last bit of fresh air before the storm. There are a few anxious whispers, mostly from elders and apprentices, about the Gathering being cancelled, but other than that, everything is peaceful and serene.

My own personal serenity is shattered within moments as I glimpse Icepaw padding into camp, a small starling dangling limply from her jaws. She catches sight of me and bounds over excitedly, placing the prey at my paws.

"Good job," I praise her. "The elders have already been fed, so why don't you take that over to the apprentices' den and share it with Owlpaw?"

"He's hunting, too," Icepaw informs me indignantly. "I bet he's already eaten." Without waiting for another word, she flops down beside me and begins to pick the feathers daintily off the starling.

I sigh and settle down beside her, still watching the sky. The clouds seem to have gathered into a tight cluster in a matter of moments, glaring darkly at us from above. I glance around the camp, hoping to see Featherstar to inform her of the weather conditions, but she is nowhere to be found. I assume that she is still in her den, preparing the list of Gathering-goers.

"Do you think the Gathering will be cancelled?" Icepaw asks me, looking up from her meal with innocent, questioning eyes.

"I don't know," I reply. "Maybe. We'll have to talk to Featherstar. I get the feeling she'll want to meet with the other leaders tonight."

"I hope not." Icepaw looks distinctly troubled as she returns to her starling, but I don't ask her why. I am too preoccupied with my own thoughts; thoughts that seem to be wandering around anxiously, almost spastically. I can't keep my mind on one thing for long before it jumps to another. And, of course, I am having my own personal worries about the Gathering, but, somehow, those worries end up back to where my spastic thoughts started: Kiera.

I remember the scene yesterday and wonder why Kiera was there, on our territory again. It had been so soon after the night with Slashclaw that I couldn't help connecting the two. Did it have something to do with him? I don't know, but I am determined to find out. A small part of my mind asks why, but I shove the searching question aside. Another, even more private part of my brain yearns to see Kiera again, but I block that part of my mind as well.

"Where's Featherstar?" asks Icepaw, burying the remains of her meal and looking up at me with the same innocent stare. I wonder why she's so concerned; she's been to many other Gatherings before.

"In her den, I think," I respond, touching my tail tip to her shoulder. "Don't worry. I doubt the Gathering will be cancelled tonight. If we're lucky, the storm will pass right over us."

"But we can't see the moon," she murmurs, almost to herself. She looks uncharacteristically concerned.

"There's a sliver of it," I meow, trying to reassure her. She glances skyward, narrowing her blue eyes as she tries to glimpse the small beam of moonlight penetrating the clouds. I try to change the subject. "You're getting very good at hunting, you know, Icepaw," I mew, nudging her shoulder gently to regain her attention. "Perhaps we can have an assessment soon."

Icepaw twists her head to look back at me, but instead of looking joyously happy, her anxiety lingers. "Oh," she mews. "Cool." She turns back to watch the sky apprehensively.

I wonder why she's acting so strange, but I do not ask her. My own thoughts are unsettled enough; I don't need Icepaw's qualms about the Gathering worrying me as well. I am about to close my eyes and return to my thoughts about Kiera when I hear a commanding yowl from the top of the Highrock. Featherstar, her silver fur ruffled by the stormy breeze, stands on top of the slanted stone, her tail lashing out behind her.

I nudge Icepaw again and point towards Featherstar. She gets to her paws immediately and bounds over, staring up restlessly at the leader as she waits for the Gathering announcement. I follow her more slowly, still clinging on to my last memories of Kiera. Slowly the rest of the Clan joins into a crowd beneath the Highrock, and I take my place at the very base of it.

"We will still be going to the Gathering despite the uncertain weather," announces Featherstar. As she speaks, I can almost hear every single ThunderClan cat exhale deeply. Foreheads creased with worry smooth over, and anxious glimmers in eyes change to glimmers of relief. I seek out Icepaw, and see that she is grinning broadly, her tail twitching in so much excitement that she cannot keep still.

"The cats that will be going to the Gathering are Stonepelt, Cloudstorm, Tawnystripe, Owlpaw, Icepaw, Blizzardfur, and myself," meows Featherstar. "Only warriors and apprentices; no elders or queens in case the weather turns particularly nasty."

I can hear the elders beside me grind their teeth in frustration, and the queens sigh despondently. Featherstar's intense blue gaze softens, as she adds, "I'm sorry."

The crowd begins to break up, and those who have been invited to come to the Gathering move towards the thorn tunnel, Featherstar at the head of the throng. I follow closely behind her as she leads the mass out of camp. I glance at the sky one more time, and shiver. A storm is clearly coming.

The aura of the Gathering is clearly unsettled. As I take my place at the base of the Great Rock with the other deputies, I see that every cat is glancing back and forth between the other Clans' warriors and the tiny sliver of moonlight keeping the meeting from being adjourned.

I glance upward. Still, only three leaders sit calmly on the Great Rock. Featherstar, her intense, unafraid blue eyes gazing out over the see of cats below, and all of their anxious eyes. Brackenstar, the WindClan leader, his eyes just as anxious as the rest of the cats' below, his ginger fur mussed by the wind. And Falconstar, the ShadowClan leader, his mottled fur sleek on his back and looking slightly nonplussed.

"Where is Froststar?" he asks, turning towards Featherstar. "Where is RiverClan?"

"I don't know. Perhaps they decided not to show up because of the weather," she suggests calmly.

As if a signal, the wind picks up and swirls around the clearing. I squeeze my eyes shut to block the stinging rush of air. When I open them again, I see that standing at the entrance to the clearing is what looks like the entirety of RiverClan spread out along the outer edge of tree-enclosed space, with Froststar at the head.

I see Brackenstar shudder involuntarily as the leader pads forward to take her place on the Great Rock. Her white fur is smooth and sleek, her eyes gleaming intensely and superiorly. I know that there is something going on. A growl forms in my throat as I wait for Froststar to speak.

"The Gathering will begin now that all four leaders are here," announces Featherstar. The other leaders nod, except for Brackenstar, who is cowering behind Falconstar's broad shoulders. "Froststar, would you like to speak first?" I can tell that she is as anxious to see what has brought RiverClan here so late as the rest of the Clans are.

"Certainly," agrees the she-cat, stepping primly forward. She glances down over the crowd of cats, all waiting eagerly to hear her speech. She smiles her superior smile. "I suppose you are all wondering why all of RiverClan has come to join the Gathering." Yowls of agreement break out among the assembled cats.

"RiverClan has been slowly conquering the territory of the forest," meows Froststar. "We began with WindClan, and we have successfully taken over all of their land. ShadowClan will be next, followed by ThunderClan. Be prepared for siege." She pauses. "Unless, of course, you are willing to surrender your territory now?"

Cries of outrage break out from every single cat present, though I am not one of them. My shock and revulsion are internal; I do not have the words to express my fury. How dare Froststar?

"How dare you?" shouts Stonepelt from beside me, echoing my thoughts. "That territory belongs to WindClan, and WindClan only!"

"We'll never surrender to you, foxdung!"

"Give WindClan back their territory, you thieving mongrel!"

Froststar ignores the insults and smiles again. "I see. If that is the way you wish to be, we will take your territory by force. RiverClan!" The RiverClan cats all straighten, falling back into crouch positions, ready to pounce. "Attack them now!"

I am so stunned that at first I cannot move, or even think. But I am shocked back into reality when a black RiverClan warrior lashes out with his paw and hits me in the head with a sharp blow. I shake my head to bring my senses back, before rearing up and attacking him. Just as I sink my claws into his battle-scarred pelt, rain begins to pour down.

I ignore the rain and continue, tearing at his fur in rage. How dare RiverClan start a fight at the Gathering? I channel my fury into energy and leap into the air before smashing back down upon him. He struggles beneath my weight for a moment before going limp. I check to make sure that he is not feinting before I climb off him. No sooner have I defeated one warrior, when another pounces on me.

I whirl around to face the warrior. A silver tabby she-cat with muted dark green eyes. She lashes out with an unsheathed paw, catching the side of my face and ripping her claws through my fur. Angry that I have been wounded, I lunge forward and knock her off her paws. She goes flying backwards, landing in a mud puddle at a WindClan warrior's feet. He extends a paw to the she-cat, but instead of helping her, he smashes it into the side of her face, knocking her unconscious.

I am finally unencumbered by pouncing warriors, so I glance around, trying to see through the pounding, icy rain, hoping to see the white pelt of Icepaw. I see only muted browns or grays mottled together into clumps. I crane my neck over the crowd, frantically searching for the tiny apprentice who could be so easily injured in this horrific fight. But it's no use. Icepaw is gone.

**Yeah, the ending sucked, I know. Oh well. **

**Constructive criticism appreciated. **

**-Breeze**


End file.
